


She's Gone Now

by sweet_fa (h_d)



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Interracial Relationship, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1912554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_d/pseuds/sweet_fa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man asks a psychic detective to help find his lost daughter.</p><p>(The tags refer to something that happened in a character's past.  There is no abuse or explicit content depicted in the story.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Gone Now

The man seemed so hopeful when he came to the office, as many of my clients do. "I understand you can find--that is, you can see through the eyes of a person in a photograph?"

"Yes," I replied. The man was elderly and Caucasian, with close-cropped grey hair, a full beard, and a large, protruding stomach.

"It was my daughter's 30th birthday yesterday. She's been missing since she was 15," he said. "The police say it's a cold case, that she's probably--probably dead. But I think I would have felt that. I think I would know."

I'd heard this sort of reasoning many times, enough to know better than to argue with it. His daughter probably was long dead, and no one other than myself had ever demonstrated any measurable sense of any other person's experience. I simply nodded, and took the framed picture.

It was a school photo. The girl was blonde, pretty, and a bit fat, like her father. She wore heavy makeup. I relaxed my mind and slipped inside.

My ability had no emotional content; it was like I was watching a video. Sounds and visuals came through just fine, but I never knew if my subject was afraid, or happy, or in pain. Or even alive.

At first, I saw only darkness; it was very similar to looking through the eyes of the dead, which confirmed my initial conclusion about this case. But people also slept. I'd always been sure to check at different hours of the day before confirming a subject was truly dead. I either caught the subject awake, or I saw or heard evidence that they were in their grave.

Instead, this time, I heard a low voice in my subject's ear. Male. "Good mornin', beautiful," he said. There was a smile in his voice. He had a Southern accent; my office was in New York. I could hear him kissing the back of her neck.

I heard her voice, gruff with sleep, answering. "Good morning," she said. She turned to face him. He was not very handsome and was about her age. He had kind hazel eyes, and old acne scars marred his dark skin. His thin face had about a week's worth of scruff.

I was very pleased to learn that my subject was alive and in a relationship. I rarely find anything so happy in this line of work.

He cupped her cheek in his hand and moved towards her, slowly; he was going for a kiss, I realized. She kissed back for a moment, and I was about to withdraw and leave them to their morning.

But then, she recoiled, shoving him away across the bed. She looked back at him, and the image of his face swam and changed. His skin grew lighter and his face plumped out. As she watched, he slowly morphed into the man who was sitting in my office. She screamed. I was afraid myself; I'd never seen anything like this happen before.

"What is it?" His voice was loud in shock.

She didn't reply. Her eyes were closed now, but I could hear her panting, like it was difficult to breathe.

When he spoke again, his voice was calm and soft. "Oh baby, what happened? Come here, don't hide yourself like that again, baby."

From the sound, I guessed that she still couldn't catch her breath, but it was slowing. A few minutes passed, while my curiosity heightened.

"I'm sorry," she began, her voice shaking. "When you don't--when you don't shave, I can't--it feels like my dad, it makes me think of all the times he--"

"Oh, sweetie," he said. His voice was in her ear again, and her eyes were open. He was holding her from behind. I could see his large hands stroking hers gently; she was gripping her knees so tightly that the knuckles were white. "I'm so sorry. I forgot to shave while I was away this week, that's all. I would never hurt you, you know that. Shh, now." I could hear her sobbing gently as he tried to comfort her.

I didn't feel much discomfort with other people's private moments. I'd intruded on many things over the course of my career, and always for very good reasons. But I'd seen enough. It was time to go.

I concentrated on returning to my own body, and I found myself sitting at my desk, looking at the man who had damaged his own daughter so much that even her own eyes didn't always show her the truth. I took a few deep breaths. He hadn't yet realized that I had come out, and he was staring at the floor vacantly.

I was not a practiced liar. People came to me to hear the truth, after all. I decided it was best not to embellish this fiction.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, sir, but your daughter is dead," I said.

"No!" he yelled. He stood up and slammed his fist on my desk. I flinched, despite myself. "I would have known, you bitch. I would have felt it. Don't you understand? She's mine. Mine!"

I met his gaze. I would not show fear to this man. "I do understand, sir," I said coolly. "And I'm very sorry for your loss. But she's gone."

He glared back at me. "I don't believe this. I'm not done. I'll find someone else like you, someone better. You're probably just a fraud. Do you hear me? I'll find her." He was still yelling as he turned and left.

In my life I've often wished that there was someone else like me, someone with whom I could discuss my gift and its burdens. But at that moment I was very glad to be alone with this power, and very glad to know that my client's daughter could stay free to find her own happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the following prompt: "You have the ability to see through the eyes of anyone, living or dead, anywhere on Earth as long as you have a picture of the person in question. One day a man approaches you with a picture of his missing child who has been missing for over 15 years. You lie and say the child is dead."


End file.
